Me from Paragus
by CortessaBlatt
Summary: You know that tech guy with the voicelock codes on Paragus? What’s his story? Oneshot.


**Me from Paragus**

_You know that tech guy with the voicelock codes on Paragus? What's his story? Pure Diet-Coke-induced inspiration. Oneshot._

**Rated PG13 **– Sexual references, drug and alcohol use, swearing, blood and violent situations, the usual.

**Disclaimer: **SYSTEMS FAILING AT THE LAUGHABLENESS OF A FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD OWNING STAR WARS. HA. HA. HA.

**Me from Paragus**

It's like the security systems _want _to make me scream. Every time I initiate a lockdown or override a system, a copycat flips up and I have to repeat it over and over until the code is completed. There are millions of holes and bugs – I don't understand where they're coming from! But if the Commander finds out… it'll be my hide on the wall. Just because I'm a genius doesn't mean I want to make enough worms to drive myself crazy. Just because I'm smarter doesn't mean I want to shut down a fuel depot so vital to Telos.

Telos.

My home world.

I'm not your typical Telosian broad, though. I don't have the characteristic wide face or the dark hair. I think my parents were actually Tarisian – that would explain why, while everyone else is choking on their own vomit, I can down as many Tarisian ale bottles as I can afford.

I think I'm the only one who cares.

A couple people brag about their home worlds, but I never listen. They don't matter to me; so what if they are distantly related to some Twi'lek schutta? Aliens are trouble. They have their own languages that no one understands, that teems beneath the surface. And entire army of Wookiees could kill us all with the slightest flick of their mane that we'll mistake for an itch. Aliens. Wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them – and I can't throw a pencil clear across the room.

Presently, I sigh, shifting my glasses on my long, pointed nose. Another thing about me. Everyone else here is lumbering and muscular; I'm a twiggy, pale, sharp-looking thing that ferrets out worms in systems. Some spotlight. People don't believe me, when I tell them stories of what I've done, who I've seen. But, fine. If they don't want to believe me, that's just another thing I can look out for.

Like that droid.

What is that droid, anyway? I haven't ever seen a model like that before, and it's far too talkative. Shifty. I don't like it. I am aware droids can lie, but to harbor secrets so deep that even a skim memory wipe won't make them go blubbering is bad, bad, bad. Bad news. And I hate bad news. And this Jedi, and this droid, and Coorta, are all bad news. I'll have to just keep my eyes open… and that would be easy, if it weren't for the fact that I'm kept up working for _twenty hours in a flaming day_. Bastards at the desk are going to hear about _this _once the crisis is over.

The droid is pestering me again. I look up from my work, redoing the zipper on my vest. "What?" I snap; I realize how high-pitched my voice is. I need rest. Caffa and cigarras aren't enough for a grown man with work this heavy.

The HK unit remains motionless, humming softly to itself. I twitch visibly, at my wits end with this hunk of metal. It's like an oversized child taking up space in my office.

"Dammit, droid!" I shout. "If you don't answer me I'll stuff you in the 'fresher and leave you there!"

The droid placidly turns his sensors to me; a cold feeling starts up at the base of my neck. I snarl at it.

"Mechanical son of a –"

"Query: Is there something you want me to do, sir?" the droid asks, interrupting my swearing. I glance up at it, cock an eyebrow at its slowness, and shake my head.

"Is there something caught in your gears? You're slower than a kinrath's –"

"Hurried Interjection: There is no need for obscenities, sir!" the droid says loudly.

Mollified for the moment, I sit back in my chair and fold my arms over my chest. "With this lockdown I can't reach any vital systems," I say, mostly to myself. "I could use my voiceprinting to override the lockout but then whoever's crawling through our systems would be able to reach the dormitories, and potentially cause major damage. I want to contact them, see them, just to be sure that they're alright."

"Placating Statement: That will not be necessary, sir," the droid says. My eyes flicker to its shiny, black metal casing as it speaks. "I have already visited the human dormitories. All appears to be well."

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," I grumble, kicking aside an ale bottle with my toe. "When things seem good, they usually aren't."

The droid says nothing. He remains still, though he clicks softly as his processor considers his surroundings and current situation.

I don't like him in that respect – droids are not supposed to be open-minded and considerate about their lives. They shouldn't be able to form opinions or observations or attempt to placate a swearing technician like me.

But it doesn't matter. Once that Jedi is up and walking, that droid will be gone, and that's all that matters to me.

Unable to stand the oppressing silence of my office any longer, I try and contact the main desk on the comm. Nothing. Unable to see any other way around it, I start up the voiceprinter to contact the dormitories. I may lie to myself, claiming it is only to be sure the others are alright, but in reality I only want to know if I'm alone besides this creepy droid.

The computer whirrs. "Password identification," it says in a mechanical, female voice.

"Dancing Twi'lek women make nice spice," I say. Only someone who knows me very well would be able to guess. I change it every other day – before, it was something about jugs and stimulants. I never remember my passwords once they're discarded – there's no point.

The computer clicks. The droid clicks too. I glance at the HK unit, but it hasn't changed, so I dismiss the noise. I look back to the consol, and a light flickers, telling me of the success before the voice processor can confirm it.

"Please direct your query," the consol tells me.

I ignore it and turn on the camera system, pressing the comm. to my mouth. "Hey, can you read me?"

The screen flashes to life. Captain looks angry; I can see him sulking in the corner. The others are being idiots, like always, bouncing around and shoving each other around. Someone vomits over the railway. The corner of the screen is smeared with red spice. Tailo pops onto the screen and grins at me; his teeth are dark with trace alcohol.

"Heeey, it's my old buddy!" he says loudly.

Saline is on his arm, giggling insanely. They share a drink from the same ale bottle, beaming at me. I stare back blankly, hardly acknowledging her. Just yesterday she had been in _my_ bed. But I guess good things don't last.

I don't trust humans almost as much as I don't trust aliens.

"What do you want, Joe?" Tailo roars. Someone staggers by, popping pills in the air with a mining laser. Someone is screaming with laughter; a small group is chanting for another person to 'chug.' 'Chugging' is to swallow whole an entire bottle of Tarisian ale mixed with juma juice, spice, and cigarra bulbs while being simultaneously burned with smoldering cigarra ashes while a women crawls around in your pants.

I sigh, disgusted. If this is how Paragus deals with a crisis, I won't be surprised if it blows up on us.

Tailo raps on the screen. "Joe?"

"My name's not Joe, you drunk ass monkey!" I shout back.

He laughs. Saline licks his ear and they stumble off. Someone else chucks a cigarra at the screen and I shut it off. Well, at least they're still alive. I hunch over my desk and massage my temples, listening to the sounds of Paragus, and finally the droid speaks.

"Statement: I am shutting down, since it appears there is nothing more for me to do." The metal can bows to me and sinks back into the wall. Its eyes dull and the dull clicking sounds mute. To shut down, the droid has to plug into the wall and store its power on standby. If it's needed, I can just jolt it out of its sleep with the push of a button. But it won't be needed. I watch the droid for a moment before I shake my head and check the screen.

Isn't it just lovely that my office is in the damned bay? I can hear the homicidal droids clunking about outside, but because they sense me, they aren't threats. Yet. I let my caffa cup thunk on the desk and stand up to stretch. I hate the mining outfits – they're tight and uncomfortable. Not to mention ugly and insensible. What good is wearing brown if you're going to be in a tunnel full of dirt? And what if you're just a technician like me? Wouldn't you wear something so that the officers can tell you from the grunts? No, I'm not special. I hate that. I keep this whole flaming station up and running! I alone!

Something clunks loudly outside. I whirl around, patting my utility belt for weapons.

There are no weapons.

I'm a techy.

I swear loudly and vehemently, jerking for the droid. A furious banging noise starts on the other side of the door; the locks whine in complaint. _Dammit_. The mining droids. I try to jerk the HK unit awake, but it's shut down and will take too long to start up. I'm alone. I desperately pry the repeater from its hand, and then realize its wearing it only for show. The staff removed the charges for fear it accidentally fired and blew up the station. What good that does now. I throw the weapon aside and try to find something… anything. A mining laser. I grab it. At least it's something.

The locks hiss and scream as they snap. I whirl around, aiming, but the door is jammed. I smirk. Stupid droids. They've locked themselves out now.

But then the door turns red at the hinges. They're burning their way in!

I glance at the security camera to see how many I have to face.

Five.

I might be able to… but I have no combat training. I try to calm myself; of course they won't get in. And if they do, their mining lasers probably won't be able to hit me. I reach for the comm. system to try and contact some support. I try and bark into the dormitories, but everyone is either passed out or getting there, because I get no reply.

"Five droids," I say, glancing at the door, which is crumpling on itself. "They're… they're burning their way into the bay. Please get over here, my ass is toast."

I don't believe it, of course. But it's bound to scare someone into coming to check on me. I sink back behind my desk, bracing for the attack. I take aim, biting my lip and waiting.

The door blows. The droids clunk in and I fire at the first. Metal screeches and the droid staggers drunkenly before it falls down on its own stilt-like legs. Its smoking photoreceptors blind another, but it quickly tumbles over the first. I take aim at the one in front, but suddenly it fires with perfect precision, knocking the mining laser from my hand. I cry out, shocked, and fall backwards. They swarm on me.

For the first time, feral panic rises in me. I scream at the top of my lungs, beating their metal skulls with my bare fists. One takes its enormous, sharp claws and grips my leg, slicing through the flesh like a warm knife through butter. My yells and shrieks raise in volume, ringing in my ears as I kick it in the face. Pain burns my leg, nearly rendering it useless, as I try desperately to get to my feet.

They overwhelm me again. One slices my wrist; another slits me across the gut. Blood… blood… everywhere… _Oh, gods, help me_…. I find a pick in my pocket and, with an alien fury, I drive it into the exposed power core of one of the droids. It stumbles, crashing into another, and they are lost in a tangle of mechanical legs. Three down… two more droids.

One settles over my abdomen and gets to work, ripping up my chest. I choke on my shrieks; blood has strangled me. I can see it rush over my lips and onto my already-crimson chest. Another has my reeling head, and has begun squeezing… squeezing… As I work up the strength to utter one last scream, my rolling eyes land on the HK droid.

As darkness eats at the edges of my sightline, I realize with a bitter, horrible jolt that the droid is watching me; and above the hum of droid machinery, the awful beast is laughing.

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**Author's Notes: **Hmm. I'm pleased. Which is odd. This has been maturing in me for a while and finally I decided to put it down. It's cold out here; I can't feel my fingers. Happy happy joy joy. Ignore any typos, puh-leaze.


End file.
